Picking Up the Glass
by OrangeLaces
Summary: Ponyboy's busy dealing with friends, school and the way Tulsa's changing. But now the Curtis gang seems to be falling apart and Ponyboy is stuck in the middle, wondering if it's all his fault.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders**

I was walking fast with the collar of my leather jacket turned up. The only real and directing thought in my mind was to get to the DX, where Sodapop would be. The light drizzle decorating the cracked sidewalk under my feet suddenly turned into a violent downpour. I cursed under my breath. I was gonna look like crap when I got to the DX, and when I got home, Darry was gonna have a fit. At first, I tried huddling under my jacket but the rain was too incessant, so I finally ended up lifting my face into it, hoping it would wash away some of the blood and bruises.

I shouldn't have gotten into that fight. But as sure as I knew that, I knew nothing would have stopped me in that moment of white hot rage. That spoiled, white-trash kid had no right to talk about Johnny and Dally. It'd been more than a year since that terrible night when we lost them, but people still brought it up occasionally. I guess it was just one of those things that took a long time for people to forget. In a way, things had gotten better. After the whole deal, fighting between the classes started to fade away, just like a fad slowly losing popularity. It was only sad when you thought about the price we had to pay for this part-peace. It was sad to think that it took three deaths to get it through people's heads that maybe, just maybe, the fighting was no good.

And there were always exceptions.

The kid did it to provoke me. And it had worked. Better than he thought it would apparently, judging from the surprised and slightly frightened look on his face when I'd rushed at him. I'd leveled him easily with a swing at his jaw. It wasn't for nothing that I was known around as a pretty good fighter; I, with my history, was a natural target for meddling, infuriating Socs that didn't know how to stop fighting. And with that, I'd made myself that reputation without ever once trying. Dally would of been proud.

After knocking down the offending kid, I was in trouble. His friends set on me and I was quickly on the losing side. When one of them started swinging around a broken Pepsi bottle I backed out with a few choice insults. They let me go so I guess I was acting so wild they didn't want to deal with me.

As I turned the corner and saw the DX, I started to jog, my school books bouncing against my side.

School.

I was lucky I wasn't going to get busted for that fight. The guys had been smart enough to start it in the parking lot furthest from the school, where there were no teachers patrolling around. Darry would have killed me for going to the principal's office again. I went too many times as it was. I wasn't the kind of guy looking for trouble but between my grades dropping so drastically after Johnny and Dally's deaths and getting mouthy with my history teacher, I got enough. I never meant to tell off my teacher. It'd just happened. Sometimes I don't use my head.

I pushed the squeaky gas station door open with one arm and cautiously looked around. I wasn't feeling too sharp about meeting some lousy teenager who'd tell the whole school I'd got into a fight. Strategically avoiding a middle aged lady with three children, I made my way to the back room. I pulled open its door just as Steve Randle, Soda's best friend and partner at the DX, opened it. We almost collided as Steve fell back onto the door jam when I rushed through.

I'd never really liked Steve. He always looked at me like I was the annoying, little brother, even though I was now almost 16. As he stepped back to avoid me, I saw his face twisting into that automatic sneer he always seemed to reserve for me.

"Dammit kid, can you watch…" He suddenly froze and his face expression changed as drastically as his tone when he said, "Ponyboy, what happened? You okay? Who did that to you? Those bastards! You okay, Pony?"

I could almost say he sounded concerned but Steve Randle wasn't mentally able to be concerned about me. That firmly planted philosophy on Steve was one of many I'd conceived during a boring detention in which Steve refused to acknowledge me, despite the fact that we were going to be stuck in the same room for three hours. I started to question myself though, as he grabbed my wrist and started directing me toward the bathroom in the back of the building. He pushed me in front of the sink and started pulling bottles down from the shelves.

"Here's peroxide ... rubbing alcohol ... band aids … hm, what's this?" Steve rambled as he placed supplies at the edge of the sink.

I caught a small white bottle as it tipped off the narrow counter. Each item Steve set down had distinct black marks. Oil stains, I reasoned, and probably other things I didn't want to know. The corner of the band aid box was a suspiciously dark red.

I was drawn out of my thoughts by Steve's voice, "Hey, don't space out on me here, kid. Always got your head in a cloud. And now look where it got you." I started to think Steve was back to normal when he continued, "Lemme see your face. Are you gonna need stitches?"

He pushed me under the light and I lifted my chin. As he studied my bruises I began to get over my Steve-might-care shock and said, "Uh, Steve. What are you doing?"

For a few very silent moments he just stared at me like I was nutcase or something, and then he said, his voice clear and low, "You're Soda's kid brother. That makes you practically my kid brother. I'm not gonna let you bleed to death."

I let out a constrained laugh, "I'm no where near bleeding to death."

Steve just looked at me like I was a really unbelievably dumb twerp. Of course, I was used to that, so I just ignored him. Finally, he turned around and started messing in the shelves again.

"Where are the fuckin cotton balls? There were here last week. How can ..." Steve muttered on and I watched the complicated curls on the back of his head, feeling weird.

"Um, Steve?" I said slowly. "Could you just get Soda?"

Steve turned around and I saw something that looked almost like hurt pass behind his naturally accusing eyes.

"Yeah," He said shortly. Something about his tone made me rethink what had just happened.

"Hey ... Steve, its okay. You can ..."

He cut me off as he walked away, "Might take a little while to find him."

"No problem." I said lamely as I watched his retreating back.

I wondered what had just happened. Steve hated me. He didn't care that I got beat up. He'd rather spend three dead-boring hours in detention than speak to me! He was happy I'd let him off having to nurse me by asking for Sodapop. Right? Somehow I wasn't so sure but before I had time to conjure a new philosophy on Steve, I saw Soda half-walking, half-skipping down the chips aisle toward me. His face was creased with worry.

"Hey Pony. You okay?"

He immediately started helping me clean myself up. We put peroxide on a couple cuts on my hand and Soda dug out a piece of glass I'd somehow gotten in the back of my arm. Once I'd washed my face I actually didn't look too bad. I fantasized with the possibility of Darry not realizing I'd been in a fight. But with the bruise on my forehead, my fat lip and that red welt under my eye, I concluded that unless Darry lost his eyesight before I got home, it was a hopeless idea. I sighed.

"What?" Soda immediately reacted to it. I'd of course already poured the whole story out to him. I could never keep anything from Soda and to tell the truth, besides the time I'd met Sandy's sister at the movies, I'd never wanted to.

"I'm just thinking about what Darry's gonna say," I had found a comb and grease among the many objects on the bathroom shelves and I was carefully restyling my rain washed hair.

"Don't worry about Darry," Sodapop said lazily, "You know, he's overworked and he gets all upset with you just cause he's worried something worse will happen next. You can't blame him really."

"Yeah, I know," I said with a sigh. I knew that Sodapop's little assurance was really a pep talk for me not to get into a big argument with our older brother. I wouldn't. After putting out a big effort into not fighting with Darry for a few months, I'd gotten to actually _know_ him and realized I'd really missed out when all I did was fight and avoid him. Still, though. When things like this happened, Darry had to play dad and I was not happy about confronting him.

As I used a stained yellow towel to rub dry the hair on my neck, I heard a yell from somewhere outside the DX building. Sodapop jumped off the doorframe he'd been leaning on, looking like the model for a poster of some new movie.

"Gotta go. It's the boss." He turned around but then yelled back over his shoulder, "Wait around, Pony. We'll give you a ride home."

After checking my hair out critically in the mirror, which seemed generally clean as opposed to the rest of the place, I walked slowly to the front of the DX, picking up a candy bar on my way. The guy working there let me have it on account of me being Sodapop's brother. I gave him my thanks with a grin.

He smiled back and shook his head, saying, "Yeah, see, you got the Sodapop smile, kid. Don't know why you two are still here in this ole town. All's you need to do is pick up and go to Hollywood and you'd all be rich!"

As he laughed at his own joke, I watched the rain outside. I didn't know why people were always saying I looked like Sodapop. When I once said I was no where near as good lookin' as him, Two-Bit had told me all the girls following me around like puppies was proof I was. 'What girls?', I'd responded. That comment caused everyone to have a huge laugh and gave Steve the opportunity to make some wisecrack about me always having my head in the clouds. Two-Bit left for Buck's place that night telling me to join the Beach Boys and boost their popularity.

I opened my candy bar and squinted as the cut on my cheek began to throb. Slowly chewing the chocolate, I contemplated how best to present my sorry case to Darry.

**I'd really appreciate reviews. I'm especially grateful for constructive critism. One big 'iffy' of mine is Did I do the characters correctly? As in their personalities/actions, etc. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.**

**I forgot my disclaimer on the first chapter. Very sorry about that. Anyway, I edited it and its there now. Oh, and I changed the summary. Hope its better than the last one. THANK YOU THANK YOU to my reviewers and readers. Hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

When I finished my candy bar it was still raining. I could see Soda working with customers, protected from the wet drops by the roof over the pumps. I looked at the clock above the squeaking, glass door. It was just after four. Turning sharply away from the window, I headed toward the back of the DX, dropping my candy wrapper in the trash on the way. I walked into the garage set aside for car repairs and spotted Steve lying under an old Chevy. There was a whole lot of clattering coming from down there and I wondered if getting the pile of rust up and running was even worth an attempt.

"Hey Steve," I said, raising my voice above the ruckus.

Steve pushed himself half way out from under the car, "Hey kid," Looking me over quickly, he said, "You look better. Maybe you could persuade Darry you just ran into a tree, huh? Considering it's you we're talking about, he might actually believe it."

I ignored his comment, as I'd already been doing for the last ... well, the whole time I'd known him. Whatever I'd seen behind his bitter eyes earlier must have been my imagination.

I changed the subject, "When does Soda get off work?"

Steve answered as he wrestled with a screw that his wrench just didn't seem able to grip, "Same time as me today. It'll be seven. What's it to you?" The screw slipped out of his hold again and he cursed.

Not answering his question, I handed him a red handled wrench that looked like it would fit the screw top better. Without thanking me, he got to work again and sure enough, the screw loosened up.

I turned around and slowly walked out of the garage, wondering what I was going to do for the next three hours. Although I didn't feel like walking home alone and facing Darry without Soda, I was going to go stir crazy stuck at the gas station all afternoon. Walking down the aisle filled with candy bars, I contemplated getting another one but finally decided against it. I'd rather have a cigarette. Reaching into the pocket of my jacket, I pulled one out. I was getting ready to light it when I felt eyes on me.

Looking up, I saw a slim, blond girl standing by the register. For some reason the free-candy-bar guy wasn't there anymore. I recognized the girl as Sheila Winters. She was in a couple of my classes, but the only reason I really remembered her was because she had once gasped when I'd pulled a switchblade out of my pocket while dissecting a worm in science class; then she'd very brightly announced that I was indeed a hood, like everyone said. A couple people, or more like half the class, found that very funny. She had avoided me like the plague since then.

I told myself I didn't care.

When I caught her staring at me she turned her head away quickly, hiding her face behind her long, curly hair. I noticed her hands playing anxiously with the cap of the pepsi she was obviously trying to buy. I looked around. No sign of the free-candy-bar guy. Maybe he went on a bathroom break.

I looked back at Sheila. She acted like I was going to pull out that blasted switchblade and attack her with it. Feeling slightly vindictive, I decided to ring up the pepsi for her. Brushing past her, I walked behind the counter and tossed my unlit cigarette onto it.

"Just a pepsi?" I drawled, looking her straight in the face. I wondered if she would jump and run, or risk being near such a nasty hood as me.

"Um, yeah, just the pepsi." She answered. She glanced up and half smiled at me. She looked nervous as hell but something in the smile was really sweet. I knew distantly that this was the part where I smiled back at her and we would be friends forever (or at least forgiven and forgotten, something along those lines). But I was so shocked at her smile that I frowned instead. Something like a blush crept up her neck. After a moment she said, "Do you work here?"

"No," I said shortly, dropping the hood act and turning my attention to the cash register, "I'm just hangin' around. My brother Sodapop works here. That'll be fifteen cents."

"Um…Ponyboy."

That was strange. She knew my name. Then again, it was one of those names you only had to hear once to remember.

"I … well, I'm really ... sorry." She spoke softly and looked at the counter, running her fingers over a brown crack, "You know … I didn't mean ... I'd never ..."

I stared at her, mesmerized by this sudden turn of events, when the door swung open with a bang and none other than Two-Bit Matthews sauntered in.

"Oi Ponyboy! I know your pockets are full of babes' digits. Now you know the deal, brother! The blondes go to me." Two-Bit sat himself down on the counter and took the cigarette I'd set there. He looked down at Sheila and seemed to notice her for the first time, "Hey there honey. Don't worry. I'll let Ponyboy have you, even if you are a blonde."

I took half a second to glare at Two-Bit but then watched Sheila curiously, wondering if she'd slap him or maybe run out and bring back some tough boyfriend – or brother. Instead, she blushed and without even looking at me, rushed out of the gas station. But I'd caught her trying to hide a smile as she left. I also noticed she still looked real good in yellow.

Lighting up and taking a long drag on my cigarette, Two-Bit observed, "Isn't she the girl who called you a hood way back when?"

"Yeah," I said slowly, "Weird thing is, I think she was just trying to apologize for it when you barged in." I shook my head and added, "But she's scared to death of me."

"I don't know," Two-Bit replied, his voice strangely serious, "Girls are complicated. Maybe she's just scared to death of what you _think_ of her."

I shrugged and grabbed my cigarette from him.

"Hey! You little - " Two-Bit flailed at me but just ended up falling backwards off the counter.

My laughter stopped abruptly when I looked at the open cash register, "Damn! She didn't pay for that pepsi."

"Oh, oh, oh!" Two-Bit announced dramatically as he pulled himself off the floor, "The mystery is solved. She was acting strange because she was planning to shoplift all along. A thief in our midst!"

I rolled my eyes.

Two-Bit laughed and then said arrogantly, "She needs to take some lessons from me."

"Yeah, well, even if she didn't pay for her pepsi, you still have to pay for that gum."

"What gum?" Two-Bit asked innocently.

"The gum in your pocket, smart ass." I pulled a dollar out off my own pocket and proceeded to pay for the pepsi I'd let out of the DX without being paid for. I supposed I could just not say anything about it and no one would notice the loss, but it would bother me later. I'd end up worrying about whoever owned the place and if his family had enough to eat and buy clothes. I don't know why I do that. Two-Bit has the closest thing to a career he'll ever get in taking things without paying, and I don't even think it would bother Sodapop or Steve none. But it bothers me.

Two-Bit pulled the gum out and set it back on the shelf, "Alright, alright. I'll get some gum at the gas station on the other side of town."

Along with an assortment of coins, I found a crumpled corner of notebook paper in my pocket.

"Oh. Two-Bit. I actually do have a blonde's number here for you."

Two-Bit snatched the paper from my hands and messed my hair, "Well, well. Ponyboy, good work." After a pause he said, "Aren't you gonna to tell me not to let it slip to this broad that I got the digits from you?"

"Nah. This girl just passed my table at the Dingo and left this in front of me. Didn't even talk to me. If she wants to harp about me giving her digits away, I'll just tell her to leave specific instructions on them next time."

Two-Bit laughed, "Well, as long as you got it figured out."

We sat for a minute, passing the cigarette back and forth. Two-Bit asked about my face and I explained the incident to him. He just nodded. Soda and Darry, not being at the high school anymore, didn't really understand the pressure. Only Steve and Two-Bit really knew how bad it was. And it wasn't like Steve was understanding about it. But we had each other's backs.

"So Two-Bit, whatcha doin' here?"

"Just getting my tank filled. I'm headin' over to Buck's place. Sounds like they're gonna have some big old gambling over there tonight."

I thought for a minute, "Hey, mind if I come with?"

"Course not, you're my boy, Pony!" Two-Bit hopped off the counter, "Come on. I've been here too long. Let's get outta here before they tow my car away."

I followed Two-Bit out the squeaking door and we ran through the rain to the gas pumps. I stopped to talk to Soda, who was filling someone's tank.

"I'm headin' out with Two-Bit. We're probably going to see a movie or go to the Dingo. I might not be back 'til late. Tell Darry."

At one point, I would have felt bad lying to my brothers like that, but there's nothing like time to help you get used to things. Two-Bit and I had a kind of understanding. He took me to Buck's, or other shadier places, and even covered for me. Steve would've ratted on me in a heartbeat, and Darry and Soda would have killed me if they knew where I'd been, but things had changed since Dally and Johnny died. Darry worked so much I felt like I barely ever saw him. Sodapop and Steve were closer than ever and seemed to stick to themselves most the time. I mean, I had never gone out much with them in the first place, but now a night hanging out with Soda and Steve was less than rare. Two-Bit didn't come over all the time like he used to. It was just like it was too painfully obvious to see the missing pieces when we were all together. Somewhere along the way, I'd ended up spending a lot of time with Two-Bit.

Hours later, I was taking drags on a cigarette and watching the scene in front of me. Buck's place was packed wild. The blasting music was shaking the windows, and there were people dancing on and over anything from the pool table to each other. A big game of Texas Hold 'Em was going on. After winning enough dough, I'd drawn out of it. It looked like I'd made the right decision since Jason Brastin was now cleaning everyone out. I could smell the marijuana from upstairs.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around. It was Curly.

"Hey, whatcha doin' here tonight?" I asked.

"What do you think I'm doin'?" He said with a laugh as he clumsily brushed curly black hair out of his eyes, "Getting' stoned!"

Curly and I were a pretty strange pair. While I barely drank and didn't do any drugs (I preferred to keep my head in condition to _think_ with), he was drunk or stoned on any chance he had. He was also dangerously impulsive, always looking for a fight, while I did all I could to stay out of bad situations (the irony was how little all the trying had helped). It was a wonder Curly was still in high school while I was one of the advanced kids. But we watched each other's backs and that was what mattered. About a year ago, Curly, brandishing a broken beer bottle, had kept a group of Socs off me and a week later I got him out of detention. Since then, we were there for each other.

"Hey man," Curly slurred, "Elsie's been starin' at you since you got in."

I shrugged. I'd gone out with her once but for some reason she insisted we had been in a committed relationship. Needless to say, I found her extremely annoying.

Curly waved his beer bottle in front of him as he continued, "She's an attractive broad. What do you got against her?"

"I already told you. She's annoying. I mean, she acts like we're soul mates and I've went on one date with her." I spat out, exasperated, "And you made me go on that date. See if I ever let you set me up again."

"Yeah, yeah. I gotcha man. So you won't mind if I go talk to her?"

"No. Not at all. In fact, tell her I'm a terrible person. Maybe she'll stop doting on me."

Curly shook his head, "Yeah, whatever man. I'll see you tomorrow. We need to talk."

I watched Curly walk away, wondering what it was he needed to talk to me about. Curly had a disturbing tendency to get me, along with him, into trouble. It was usually up to me to get us out of it.

I surveyed the room once more. Things weren't anywhere near quieting down but it was getting late. I started to wonder where Two-Bit was when I saw something that made me freeze.

Sodapop was chatting with some guys on the other side of the room.

And Steve Randle was looking straight at me.

**Okay, I have NO IDEA how much a pepsi was in the 1960's so forgive me if 15 cents is totally off. I even looked it up on google but couldn't find anything. Anyway, if anyone happens to have a realistic estimate on how much it would be I can correct it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.**

**Thank you everyone for the reviews! They make my day and I really appreciate them.**

I suddenly felt the pressing need to sink into the stained, worn floorboards and disappear. I distantly felt the urge to run, but Steve was looking straight at me. There was no way I would be able to make it out of Buck's. And even if I did, I'd catch it once I got home.

Sodapop was still talking to the same guy. They were laughing together at something or other. Soda turned and put his hand on Steve's shoulder. I could see the question on his lips as he asked Steve what was so interesting. He turned his head to follow Steve's gaze. This is the end, I thought. I felt suddenly, terribly sorry for Two-Bit, who was going to get into as much trouble as I was. I wondered how I could have been stupid enough to tangle him into this in the first place.

Then, the unexpected happened. Steve abruptly turned away from me, taking Soda with him. The two disappeared into the crowd of dancers. I stared after them, dumbstruck. Steve had just deliberately kept Soda from seeing me! He had covered for me. My detention-made philosophy on Steve was breaking apart, fast. Why would he have done something like that? He would probably hold this over my head for years, like an executioner's axe.

Disoriented and a little disturbed, I swept my eyes across the room, trying to find Two-Bit. I needed to get home now. Or at least to the Dingo. I needed to get somewhere I was allowed to be. When I found no sign of Two-Bit, I pushed through the crowd toward Curly, who was still talking to Elsie.

I grabbed his shoulder, "Come on, Curly, we need to get outta here."

Elsie looked at me as if my statement had been a direct insult to her. Usually I was pretty polite around girls, even though the other guys teased me about being such a wuss. But this was a special situation and Elsie was a special case. I ignored her.

"Curly, come on. You have a car, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, but what's the hurry? I'm just gettin' started." Curly waved his beer bottle vaguely and I took it out of his hands. Setting it on the counter, I pushed him towards the door.

I heard Elsie, behind me, say something that didn't sound too pretty, but I was too occupied to pay attention. Keeping an eye out for Sodapop and Steve, we made our way outside.

"Where are you parked?" I asked Curly.

"I don't know …"

"Curly! We need to get of here! My brother's in there and if he sees me, I'm a goner. You dig?"

Understanding slowly made its way into Curly's eyes. "I think I parked down there."

We had started walking down the dim street when I heard yells behind us. That wasn't exactly strange. People were always hollering about something around here, but these yells seemed to be directed at us. I turned around. Three boys were coming our way.

"Oh damn. I broke their car window earlier tonight." Curly said quietly.

I groaned, "Well, golly, why the hell did you do something as rock-brained as that?"

Curly shrugged, "I don't know. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Curly didn't seem too worried. I figured he was to drunk too know or even care what was happening. I sized the boys up. Normally, we could probably handle them, but with Curly as drunk as he was, I wasn't so sure.

The boy with an ugly tattoo on his arm stepped forward, "Our windows got smashed and this piece of dirt here sure as hell knows it. He's gonna pay."

Curly stood next me, looking as bored as he did when he got stuck at my house watching Mickey Mouse with Two-Bit.

The angry kid looked at me, "We ain't got no argument with you. If you wanna go, we ain't stopping you."

Curly looked at me sharply, and for half a second, he looked like he hadn't gone through about thirty beers.

"You don't know how close I am to taking your car and leaving." I hissed at him.

But he smiled, "You've already been in one fight today. What's one more?"

I was surprised. I had thought Curly hadn't noticed my bruised face. He looked like he was going to say something else, but the three kids in front of us decided they'd had enough small talk.

I stumbled backwards as one of them shoved me. After catching my balance, I found myself dodging punches. I managed to look over at Curly and for someone as drunk as he was, he was really holding his own. I guess I should of known; that kid can take anything. One of the guys on him had a bloody nose. I managed to dish out a powerful punch to the temple just as I heard commotion outside of Buck's. Someone was yelling about the fight. Suddenly, six or seven more people joined us. I didn't even know whose side was whose. Judging from the confusion, most people didn't. Everyone just wanted an excuse to rumble. As more people came out of Buck's, to either watch or join in, I started to get worried. There was no way Steve or Soda would miss a fight.

I managed to give my guy a hard one on the jaw. In the few seconds it took him to reorient himself, I was gone. I found Curly and dragged him out of the crowd.

"I'm driving." I yelled. "Let's get outta here."

Curly didn't protest, and soon we were in his battered Ford, screeching around a corner. Curly was holding his quickly reddening shirt against his nose.

"Where're we going?" He said thickly.

"My house," I answered decisively.

By the time I had steered into our driveway, Curly was passed out against the window. I sat there for a minute, wondering how I was going to explain this to Darry.

Finally, I nudged Curly. He slowly lifted his head to look at me.

"Listen. I was at the Dingo with Two-Bit when you drove over, all tore up and drunk. That won't be too hard for anyone, even Darry, to believe. So I took you back to our house. You dig?"

Curly nodded and pushed open his door. He was pretty used to being a part of my cover up stories, which seemed to get more complicated over time. At first, I'd only gone to Buck's a few times with Two-Bit. Now, I was making up stories about how I'd spent my whole evening and night. I felt a sudden coldness in my stomach as I remembered Steve. If he snitched on me …

I led Curly to the porch. He stumbled over the first step and cursed. I tried to push the rickety door open quietly, but, in a sudden burst of adrenaline, Curly banged it open and rushed to our bathroom. I grimaced as I heard him retching.

Darry was lying on the couch, staring at me. For a second his gaze wavered as he shut off the TV.

"Where've you been?"

"The Dingo. With Two-Bit. Didn't Soda tell you?"

"Yeah, he did." Darry paused. "But where'd you pick him up?" He gestured toward the bathroom, where I could now hear water running.

"Oh, he came by like that, and as you can probably tell, he's in no state to be driving. So I drove his car over here with him." I let it all out easily, scaring myself. I wondered what it was that made some people such good liars, while others couldn't do it worth shit. In a way, I wished my ability was the latter.

Darry nodded. He believed me. I experienced the strange sensation of being relieved and guilt-ridden at the same time.

"Soda told me you got into some fight at school." Darry said.

"Yeah," I answered reluctantly.

Then Darry surprised me by saying, "I'm not going to get mad at you about it. You need to learn yourself when to get drawn into a fight and when not to. And you're a pretty good kid, Pony. I mean, you're not the one throwing up over there." He gestured toward the bathroom again, where Curly didn't seem to be making any quick recoveries.

I had to grin. "Thanks, Darry. It won't happen again. I promise."

Darry looked at me skeptically. "Well that's one promise you won't keep. I know it'll happen again. But just don't let it happen all the time, ok little buddy?"

"Yeah, I dig." I said quietly. After a moment, I added, "Hey Darry, did Soda bring my books home?"

"Yeah, they're in your room." Darry got up and walked down the hall.

I made my way into the kitchen and got a cup of chocolate milk. A moment later, Curly slumped against the door frame, his hair sticking up all over the place.

"You got any beer?" he asked.

"Not for you," I said, as I pulled a glass out of the cabinet. I filled it with water and handed it to Curly.

"And what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?"

"Drink it. Otherwise, you're gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow."

Curly took the glass and walked into the living room. When I finished my chocolate milk, I washed the cup. I thought about what Darry had said, about me being a good kid. I felt a pang of guilt, and for a moment, I wanted to confess everything to Darry, right that minute. But the feeling passed. On the way to my room, I caught sight of Curly passed out on the couch.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, I found him in the same place only now joined by Two-Bit. They were both white as sheets and seemed to be taking turns at the bathroom. Mickey Mouse was playing on the TV.

Two-Bit turned his head when I walked in, "Hey Pony. There ain't no way I'm giving you a ride to school today. I've got the worst hangover in this hemisphere. Except for maybe this kid's here." Curly was rushing toward the bathroom again.

"Remind me again where the appeal of getting drunk is." I said to Two-Bit.

"Well, at the moment, I really can't remember. Ask me next time I'm drinking." He started to laugh and then stopped, wincing.

I smiled, just as Steve walked in the door.

"Come on, Ponyboy." He said. "We're gonna be late for school."

Without looking at him, I got my stuff together. After saying bye to Darry and Sodapop, I hurried out the door, and got to the car before Steve. He climbed in without even acknowledging that I was there, which was fine by me. But when we were half way to the high school, without saying a word to each other, I started to get nervous.

"Steve," I said pointedly, "are you gonna tell Darry and Soda?"

"I didn't last night."

I tried to read his face, but that, as always, was impossible, "Why not?"

Steve shrugged, "I'm not a snitch. This is your problem, Ponyboy. You're the one that's gonna be tellin' them."

"I don't really ever plan on telling them." I said dryly.

"Then that's your problem."

"Well, that's just swell Steve." I started to get frustrated.

"What do you want me to do?" Steve took his eyes of the road for a moment to look at me, and I was surprised to find sincerity there. "I don't want to tell on you. Hell, I was at Buck's when I thirteen! At the same time, I feel like crap not telling Soda this. He would kill me if he knew I kept something about you away from him. You think this is all about you Ponyboy. Well, sometimes, you need to look at the bigger picture, kid."

Steve slammed on the brakes and I realized we were in front of the high school. We parted without a word. I was juggling books in my locker a minute later, as I mulled over what Steve had said. I wondered if Two-Bit felt the same way as him: like I was putting him on the spot. Feeling lousy, I chucked my history book into the bottom of my locker.

I began to feel around for my science homework when I heard a feminine voice behind me, "I think I owe you for a pepsi."

**And that will be it for today, folks. Thank you, review, and come again!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders.**

**Okay, everyone, so I've FINALLY updated. Sorry about the long delay. I also have to apologize because I think this chapter is a little shorter than the others. So I don't have much to show for taking so long to get this chapter out! Anyway, forgive me and enjoy!**

I froze. The book I'd chucked into my locker tumbled out and opened up on my sneakers. For a moment, I stared at it, as if it held the answer to why Sheila Winters was standing right behind me. But no, all it told me was something about Benedict Arnold being a traitor. I tightened my jaw, feeling a very uncomfortable kinship with Mr. Arnold ... betraying Darry, lying to Sodapop. Not feeling too hot, I gently kicked the book off my foot and turned around.

Sheila stood there, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail. And damn it, it was tied up with a yellow ribbon. Dragging my eyes away from her hair, I looked into her face. Her expression was cautious.

"Um, is now a bad time?"

I realized I was frowning and had my hands shoved deep into my pockets. Behind me, I was sure my locker looked like a disaster zone. _Some way to persuade someone you're not a hood_, I thought caustically. "No, its okay," I said as I forced myself to relax, "It's not you. I'm just ... feeling guilty."

She raised her eyebrows. Her eyes were brown. Something about them reminded me of Sodapop. "Guilty?" She questioned.

"Yeah," I sighed, cursing myself. It was likely she now thought I had spent my weekend shoplifting whatever's not tied down and hotwiring anything with wheels. I figured I could at least set her straight there. "It's just that-" I noticed the halls were beginning to clear. What was I trying to say anyhow? "-never mind."

I turned around and pushed my history book into my locker. It was obliging enough to stay put. Sticking my arm into the disaster zone, I rummaged around for my notebook. Sheila leaned on the locker next to mine and looked down at me. She was wearing a pair of white pumps. I wondered how she kept them clean, if she wiped them down every night or if her parents just bought her new ones every month.

"So, um, what about the pepsi?" She started slowly. "Because I can pay for it. I mean, I really should. I feel so stupid-"

God, she was blushing again.

I found the right notebook and stood up. "It's fine. Really."

"Are you sure?" Sheila said uncertainly.

The halls were deserted by now. I was going to be late for class, and I'd already been late enough times for that to mean detention. And then I'd have to deal with Darry – or maybe he'd just say it was alright, I was 'a good kid anyway'. The now-familiar, itchy feeling of guilt crashed over me in a wave.

Sheila was looking at me expectantly. Uncomfortable and feeling vindictive, I snapped at her, "It was a fuckin pop, alright? It's not like I can't afford it. Don't worry yourself over this poor, victim of the environment."

Slamming the door of my locker, I brushed past her.

I looked back once. She was standing frozen where I'd left her, staring down the empty hallway. I felt the sudden, strong urge to run back and apologize, but I didn't want to add a detention to my already lousy day.

I got to class in time.

I got sent to detention anyway, for 'sulking'. That was Mrs. Bernstein's way of saying you looked too threatening, too much like a hood. To be honest, I felt like a hood. What type of guy yelled at a girl for offering to pay for something she'd shoplifted anyway?

**XXXXXXX**

I slumped down into one of the plastic chairs and closed my eyes. It was really too bad they didn't let you smoke in detention. I forced myself not to think of the things I could be doing right now as other kids filed into the classroom. I heard the squeak of a chair next to me and I opened my eyes to see Steve sit down at my table. I wondered if he planned to ignore me, like the last time. Might as well find out right away, I reasoned.

I leaned onto the table. "Fancy seeing you here. What happened?"

Steve turned dark eyes onto me.

"I can see the gears working in your head, Steve." I told him dryly. "To ignore the kid or not to? That is the question."

"You know, quoting Shakespeare doesn't make your stupid face look any smarter."

"I wasn't quoting Shakespeare. I was quoting you. And don't worry. I sure as hell know quoting you doesn't make anyone look any smarter." I took a chance and grinned at him. He surprised me by smirking back, as opposed to giving me the finger and moving to another table.

"So, kid, you wanna know why I'm in this shithole with you?"

I pretended to think hard. "You took the hubcaps off the principal's car?"

Steve snorted, "No, once was enough for that. No, this time it's all your fault."

"Of course," I retorted sarcastically.

Steve went on without paying attention, as usual, to my comment, "You have to get me all worked up on the ride to school. And then, in class, I get busted for sulking."

I had to laugh, but I smothered it when I got a look from the teacher. "Hey, me too. But I thought Mrs. Bernstein was the only one who could send someone to detention for something like that."

Steve shrugged, "I wasn't just sulking. I guess I ignored the teacher and I might have kicked a few chairs over. Yeah, Mrs. Bernstein's the only one who'll bust you for just sulking."

"And do you know what the definition of sulking is? 'A display of aloofness or withdrawal.' How is it fair to go to detention for that?" I started to talk animatedly. "You know, I told Mrs. Bernstein that once, but she just sent a letter home to Darry that said something to the equivalent of me being a smartass."

Steve was looking at me strangely, "You're weird, kid." He laid his head on the table.

I kicked a chair into a position for me to prop my feet on and looked at Steve. "Just because you've never touched a dictionary before doesn't make me weird." When he didn't answer me, I added, "Savvy?"

"No. Reciting the definition of sulking still strikes me as real strange."

"Whatever, grease." I said amiably. I moved my feet off the chair and propped them on the table. I got yelled at for that, though. Putting my feet back under the table, I fidgeted. I could have really used a smoke. "Hey Steve, do you think-"

"Shut up, kid. I've gotta sleep. I'm going drag racing tonight."

I digested this news and after a pause, said, "Where?"

Steve picked his head off the table to fix me with a dark glare. "I told you to shut up, and I don't need no kid tagging along. It's not like you're missing out on any excitement anyhow. Why don't you go to Buck's, huh?"

I felt the retort die on my lips as he finished. I wanted to say sorry, to tell him I didn't mean to make it like this. Instead, I moved to another table. I glared down at its brown top, cursing Steve but knowing that I was really mad at myself. I leaned back in the chair and put my sneakers on the table.

I got yelled at again.

**Please review and tell me what you think. I'd really appreciate it. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders or any characters created by S.E. Hinton.**

**

* * *

**When detention was over, Steve surprised me by asking if I needed a ride home.

"No, I kinda feel like walking," I said slowly. I was being genuine about it too. The whole day had been lousy. First, I'd snapped at Sheila for no reason, and then I'd managed to get back on Steve's bad side when we'd actually been getting along okay.

And people said I could think on my feet.

Steve nodded, "Yeah, ok."

I was shocked to see something between sympathy and understanding in his eyes. But before I could figure it out, he was gone.

After a minute, I followed him. As I walked through the door, I heard a voice behind me say, "And young man, you keep your filthy shoes off our tables from now on! Do you hear me?"

I felt like yelling back 'loud and clear', but I'd let my blasted mouth get me in enough trouble for one day.

I pushed open the front door of the high school just as Steve drove off. He cruised around the corner, obviously going way above the speed limit.

Sitting down on the concrete steps, I watched the light breeze play with the trees, trying not to think about anything. It only worked for a couple seconds.

Just as I was about to get up and start the long trek home, I heard the doors open behind me, and a noisy bunch of girls poured out. They crowded past me, gossiping to each other about so-and-so's date and who was wearing what. One with brown pigtails gave me a flirty grin and then ran off giggling with her friends. Cheerleaders. My mind involuntarily wandered to Cherry Valance and I wondered what kind of people those girls really were, underneath all the glamour.

When they'd passed by, I pushed myself off the step and swung my bag over my shoulder. The door opened behind me again. I turned around to see Sheila Winters take two steps, catch sight of me, and stop. She stared at me, looking vulnerable and uncertain. For once, I had to agree she had reason to.

I had been reaching into my pocket, and when I pulled out my cigarettes, I said the first thing that came to mind, "You want a smoke?"

"No," She answered haltingly, "Thanks."

Sheila stood there playing with a blond curl that had fallen out of her ponytail. Girls always seemed to do that when they were nervous. Two-Bit said it was a conspiracy to make guys go nuts and apologize for whatever had caused the awkwardness. Darry had laughed at that and said it was just a natural reaction, like the way my hands got clammy when I was nervous. At the moment though, I was inclined to agree with Two-Bit's conspiracy theory.

I took my cigarette out from between my lips, and opened my mouth to apologize. All that came out was, "Are you walking home?"

She paused before she answered, "No. I have a ride." Taking her finger out of her hair, she looked at me, "What are you doing here after school?"

"Detention," I muttered, wishing I sounded a little less like a juvie. Frustrated, I dropped my half-smoked cigarette and ground it under my heel. I didn't need to look like a weed-fiend along with everything else.

"Oh, I'm sorry," She said. I looked up and was surprised to find her expression remorseful. "Were you late because -- because of me?"

"Oh, no." I said quickly. "I wasn't late. I just wasn't, um, active enough in class. You know how Mrs. Bernstein is."

At this, Sheila grinned, "Yeah, I know how Mrs. Bernstein is."

She had a nice smile. It opened up her face, and felt as intimate and friendly as a hug. It suddenly washed over me why her eyes had reminded me of Sodapop's; there was that unique degree of understanding in them.

"Hey, look," I found myself saying impulsively, "I'm sorry about earlier. Don't take it personal. I just had a lousy day yesterday, and then this morning – "

"It's okay. Don't worry about it." Sheila said quickly when I started to ramble.

"How about we just forget about the pepsi, huh?"

"All right, forget the pepsi. Should we shake on it?" Sheila returned with a smile.

I grinned back, "If you say so."

When I dropped her hand, I almost reached into my pocket for another cigarette but stopped myself just in time.

"So," I said, running my hands up and down my jeans to keep them out of my box of Camels, "_you_ didn't get into detention for being late, did you?"

"No. I was here for cheerleading practice."

"Oh," I failed miserably at keeping the surprise, and maybe a little hostility, out of my voice.

"I'm only in it for my mom. She sets a lot of store by it." I followed her eyes where she was watching a couple cheerleaders still lingering in the parking lot. One with long, dark hair and a mini skirt whispered to another and they both started giggling. "I'm … I'm just… not like that."

I studied Sheila's face as she watched the girls in the parking lot. She looked confused, like she couldn't really understand what it was that made her unlike them, what marked her different.

Remembering Cherry, I said, "Most of them are probably the way they are just because they don't know how to be anything else. They were doomed from the start."

Looking away from the cheerleaders, Sheila put her eyes on me. "You dig real well, Ponyboy." Then, as if she'd only just realized what she'd said, she looked down and started playing with her hair again.

"Yeah, well, so does my gang, but no one will ever know it," I said quietly, more to myself than her.

Yells from the parking lot took my attention away from Sheila, and I saw a couple of the cheerleaders next to a shiny, blue T-bird.

Sheila looked at me apologetically, "I better go or they'll take off without me. Are you going to need a ride home?"

"No, I'm walking. I'll see you around."

I turned and walked away before she could ask to give me a ride. I was thinking of that one rainy evening at the Nightly Double, when some well-meaning Socs had given me a lift. I had told them to drop me off when we were still three blocks away from my house. I had been desperate to get out; I guess they didn't mean anything, but sitting in their tuff car with them, I felt like a zoo animal.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a cigarette and lit up.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X

I opened the front door and flung my book bag on the nearest stool. Without missing a step, I walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

"Too late, buddy. Two-Bit already drank all the chocolate milk," A voice called from the living room.

I got myself a glass of water and walked out of the kitchen to find Curly on the couch watching The Avengers.

I leaned against the doorframe. "Hey, what are you still doin' here?"

"Nothin'. And ain't that the truth. Two-Bit left after I told him there weren't no way I was gonna watch anymore Mickey Mouse. Now I have to stick around just incase he comes back thinkin' he'll watch some more of that blasted rat's antics."

I chuckled. Curly was one tough guy. He wouldn't even let someone get away with watching some dumb TV show if he didn't like it.

Curly abruptly switched the TV off and turned to me. "What the hell took you so fuckin' long? Last time I went to school it ended before six."

"I got into detention."

"Huh." Curly leaned back into the couch and digested this. "They kept you awful long, didn't they?"

I shrugged, "Maybe. Then afterward I hung around for a bit, talkin' with some girl."

Curly sat up quickly, "Some girl? Was it Mae Streeper?"

Mae was a long legged blonde Curly had been mooning over ever since we'd bumped into her once at the Dingo. It was really unfounded of Curly to think I'd been talking to her, but he'd never been sharp about that kind of stuff.

"_Was it Mae Streeper?_ What do you think?" I said dryly.

Curly thought about it, and then said, "No, I guess it wouldn't be. Shit, Pony, you're not ambitious enough with broads. Pretty soon people might start thinking you're a fuckin gelding."

I snorted, "Yeah, just because I don't think about sleeping with every girl that looks my way."

Curly shrugged nonchalantly, "So, who's this broad you were talkin' to?"

"Sheila Winters," I said slowly.

"And who in holy hell is this Sheila Winters? If I haven't noticed her yet, she must not be much of a looker."

"She looks fine," I said, surprisingly disgruntled. "You haven't noticed her because she's a Soc."

Curly raised his eyebrows, "A Socie? Good luck on that one pal." His tone said he clearly thought there was no hope.

"What? I ain't planning on taking her out. She's just … a girl," I finished lamely. Curly laughed at me and I added, "Anyhow, there's no point. All we do is apologize to each other for being who we are. And then when things are going all right some one else will point out that it's all wrong. It's like Romeo and Juliet."

Curly looked at me pointedly, "Romeo and Juliet. Just a girl, huh?"

I glared at him, "If you had half the brains to stay in class, you'd know that Romeo and Juliet isn't just some love story. It's about senseless prejudices that end up ruling people's lives!"

"Whatever man," Curly leaned back into the couch lazily. "Don't go all preachy on me. You know I can't tell what the hell you're talking about anyway."

I considered giving him some choice remark about him being a pretty dumb grease, but dismissed it. He didn't really care. Once he'd told me he only needed to be one kind of smart, and that was the kind of smart he was: street smart. He'd said he didn't give a rat's ass if he didn't know who Helen of Troy was or how much he'd weigh on the moon. I guess Curly was everything he wanted to be.

And I guess in the end that's all you need to be happy.

**I realize I've made Curly a little different than I've seen him in most fanfictions. What do you think? Please leave me a review on any aspect of the story. I'd especially be grateful for constructive criticism.**


	6. Chapter 6

**FINALLY ... another chapter. I hope at least some of you are still interested in it! Enjoy! Sorry it's short.**

I took my glass of chocolate milk and let my body flop lifelessly into Darry's chair. I gulped down about half the glass and leaned my forehead onto my free hand. I was exhausted. And I just knew there was a headache coming on.

"Hey buddy, don't go all depressed on me." Curly was giving me a look from the couch. "I understand that as Romeo you're going through a lot but - "

I frowned at him, "Christ, Curly. Enough of this already or I _will _go preachy on you."

Curly chuckled but quickly got serious. "Hey, I know my recollection of last night ain't too clear but I think I remember saying we needed to talk."

I paused, "Oh. Right. I forgot about that." I looked at him, feeling just a little apprehension. "What is it?"

"You're coming to the drag races with me tonight." It wasn't a question.

I raised an eyebrow at him, "Yeah?"

Curly abruptly stopped staring at his shoe and turned to look at me. "Pony, I need you tonight. I got into some trouble with Randy the other night and –" I must've looked confused cause Curly added, "Randy – the guy who owns the bar down at -"

I nodded, remembering a heavyset man with dark hair and some nasty scars. He owned the bar nearest the drag races. As far as I could tell, he had pretty busy nights when the drags were going on.

Curly nodded with me and then continued, talking fast, "Yeah, I just need someone to have my back. I can't go there myself. I'll be –"

"Then why don't you just not go, dumb-ass?" I said dryly.

Not fazed in the least, Curly lowered his voice, "You know how it is man. I got a deal going with Larry. Gotta pick up my dope."

I grunted in response. "You're picking it up at Randy's place?"

"Yeah," When I didn't answer immediately Curly added, "I really need you, man. You with me, Pony?"

I frowned and rubbed the back of neck. Did he _have _to put it like that? I couldn't say I was happy with the situation but he knew, above all, I was always gonna be there for a buddy. I figured it would really be my downfall – like my Achille's heel – or something like that.

"Yeah, alright." I said grudgingly.

Curly grinned, satisfied, and turned to flip on the TV. I finished off my chocolate milk and stared at him for a second. He'd known I'd agree all along.

But the conversation wasn't over as far as I was concerned.

I shifted in my chair, "Darry's not gonna be okay with this."

Curly gave me a puzzled look, "It's just the races. And it ain't like you're drivin' or nothing."

With Curly's main authority figure being a gang leader, he never really understood when I wasn't allowed to do something. He practically had to send himself to jail to even get a disapproving glance from Tim.

"Yeah, well it's a school night." I answered with a shrug.

Curly gave me a mock glare, "You and your school …"

But I'd already been thinking about excuses and quickly stated, "How 'bout we tell him we're goin' to the Nightly Double to catch a movie with some buddies? You figure we can get back by midnight?"

Curly shrugged non-committantly, "Sure, guess we could make that happen."

He wasn't too concerned but I figured he never was. That kid brought carefree to a new level. When I thought about it, I realized I'd never actual seen him real worked up or worried about anything. He'd even stopped worrying about getting Tim's approval in the last couple years. Curly may not have been a gang leader but he had a pretty tough reputation of his own. And he was damn proud of it.

I heard the roar of a motor and soon after the slam of a car door. Finishing my glass of milk, I made my way into the kitchen. Moments later the screen door opened and I heard Darry's voice as he greeted Curly.

I was always kinda surprised at how tolerant Darry was of Curly. Anyone could see the kid wasn't hanging with the best of crowds, but Darry never discouraged me from being friendly with him. I'd asked him about it once. He'd just shrugged and answered that Curly was a good kid to have on your side. And I figured what he meant was that Curly would always have my back.

As far as those things went, Curly was the best friend to have. We kept each other out of trouble. Or rather, got each other out of trouble. And I guess that was something Darry understood.

After all, Soda told me that back in the day, Darry was quite a fighter. I figure he was something like Soda is now – he liked to fight for the thrill of it all. I've never been like that and I'm not really too sure why.

I was placing my washed glass in the cabinet as Darry trudged in looking tired.

"Hey Pony. How was school?"

" Good." I answered. I quickly decided not to tell him about the detention. He looked stressed enough as it was and I knew that piece of information wasn't gonna help the situation. Especially if I wanted to go out that night.

"Curly didn't look too good this morning when I left." Darry said with a chuckle.

I grinned, "Yeah, he had a rough night. Looks like he spent the whole day on our couch."

"Crazy kid." Darry said, but I could hear the amusement in his voice. I was even a little surprised to hear some fondness.

I had walked away and settled into the couch next to Curly when Darry called to me, "Oh and Pony, I near forgot. Steve wants to talk to you about something or other. Can't say I was paying too much attention to what. Sounded like he needed some help with something."

My caught my breath abruptly and swallowed. I wondered if he'd told Darry something. But I quickly dismissed that since Darry was the kind to confront me about it right away.

I curled my fingers into my sweaty palms and frowned, only to jump at Curly's amused chuckle.

"Does the thought of talking with Randle really make you that mad?" He laughed, "Or God forbid, scared?"

I grumbled, "Lay off. Ain't nothin' Steve Randle can do to scare me."

His name tasted bitter on my tongue. Or maybe it was just the lie.

* * *

Less than an hour later, I was hopping out of Curly's Ford at a diner on the other side of town. We'd decided to get a bite before going to the races. After grabbing a booth near the door, I ordered a burger.

The waitress was kinda cute, with dark hair and freckles. She gave me a shy smile and Curly smirked audibly. I ran a hand through my hair while trying to give Curly a discreet glare at the same time. That turned out to be harder than it looked and the waitress ended up looking more intimidated than Curly.

I was pretty sure he was going to make some smart-ass comment to embarrass the girl but at the same moment a noisy group of Socs walked in. They surprised me by sitting at the table nearest to us. That was enough distraction for the dark-haired waitress to get our order and quickly escape without any jibes from Curly.

After looking carefully at the recently filled table near us, I turned back to Curly and found him studying them as well. He presently looked back at me, "The kid with the blue sweater talks to Danny every now and then. Danny said he was a decent kid." After a pause he added, "For a soc I guess."

I was surprised by Curly's comment. I knew the real fighting between the classes had stopped after Johnny and Dally, but you still didn't hear about kids getting downright friendly with each other too often. Especially calling a soc decent. Curly himself looked confused about the whole situation.

I looked back at the group and figured they were probably all pretty decent kids. After all, they were minding their own business and hadn't seemed bothered by sitting near us.

Suddenly the brunette facing away from me blurted out, "Where's Sheila at? She's supposed to meet us here."

And damn if my hands didn't start getting clammy. We had passed on pretty good terms earlier that day but she still wasn't someone I wanted to start seeing around town. Maybe she wouldn't show up. Maybe it wasn't Sheila Winters. After all, there was more than one Sheila in Tulsa. Satisfied with my reasoning, I pushed it from my mind.

"So what'd you do to get in trouble with Randy?" I turned back to Curly.

Curly shrugged, "I broke a window in his bar. It was a pool ball."

I stared at him. The kid looked positively bored with the conversation.

"So … you just _threw_ a pool ball through the window? Was it just for kicks or did you just think it would bounce right off the glass?"

Curly stopped fidgeting with his drink to glare at me. "Some people piss me off."

"Ok," I half grinned. "Now we're getting somewhere." I paused, "Wait. What? Did you throw a pool ball _at _somebody?"

"That's some brain you got, Sherlock," Curly said dryly.

"Damnit, but Curly, that could really hurt someone."

"Well it didn't hit 'em did it?" I could tell by his tone that he wasn't particularly happy about that bit of the story. Maybe that was why he'd tried to skip telling any of it in the first place.

I laughed and Curly adopted an easy grin. That was one of the things I liked about Curly. He was never upset, angry or mad for more than a minute. He never held grudges. He just let life come, took it for what it was, and let it go. He didn't try to change it anymore than he tried to change himself.

**Alright folks, leave me a review and let me know what you think.**

**Also, if you feel like it, tell me where you'd like this story to go. Any particular scenes you'd like played out? Characters you want developed? I know whenever I read stories I create all sorts of scenarios of where _I _would take the plot. I have my own idea of where the story is going but I'm curious what other people think as well. **


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